Jumbled thoughts
In a cloudy head
PTSD lock and key
Coming down
Down
Down
Down
Symptoms rolling
Falling to the ground
After it all
Jagged edged
Jigsaw claw
To a puzzle
Shoved in the closet
Waiting for the redeposit
Now I'm numb
Mind encased throng
Grey clouds dissipating
Into the serene
Now I'm tired
But I feel guilty
For putting you through this
Because I hate emotional tryst
The unknown blackmail
Wrapping unknowingly
Like heavy chain mail
Saturday, January 31, 2015
2 Nails in My Coffin
Throw me in
Remember my past sin
Close the cedar lid
Just remember
Worms still
Slither in
Take your shining shovel
Grip that handle tight
Shove the dirt
With all your might
2 nails in my coffin
One for what I said
The other
For what was lingering
In my head
Remember my past sin
Close the cedar lid
Just remember
Worms still
Slither in
Take your shining shovel
Grip that handle tight
Shove the dirt
With all your might
2 nails in my coffin
One for what I said
The other
For what was lingering
In my head
Mind Sludge
It's the other end
great big transcend
Hearing the vocal drudge
so used to flinging mud
Hearing the clatter
of a tin heart shatter
Take me outta here
free mind clear
Twisted expressions
all around me
It's all I see
Thank you notes
flutter in
Forging past my
inner mind sin
Filled with glitter
filled with gold
Help me forget
the shanking grudge
Sharpened leaded #2's
forgetting my mind sludge
Reading my words
beyond my overwhelming
Remembering only
what I'm proclaiming
great big transcend
Hearing the vocal drudge
so used to flinging mud
Hearing the clatter
of a tin heart shatter
Take me outta here
free mind clear
Twisted expressions
all around me
It's all I see
Thank you notes
flutter in
Forging past my
inner mind sin
Filled with glitter
filled with gold
Help me forget
the shanking grudge
Sharpened leaded #2's
forgetting my mind sludge
Reading my words
beyond my overwhelming
Remembering only
what I'm proclaiming
Wednesday, January 28, 2015
Taming the Dragon
PTSD. Such a stigma, thee. The good thing is that I simply don't care how people react to my telling them I sometimes suffer from the strange symptoms. That's what the little girl in me says as I stomp my foot and pounce off; taking my ball back home. In reality, I care. I see the subtle wince as I am forced in certain situations to tell some lovely soul that I suffer from such a horrible anomaly.
I've tamed the dragon of the symptoms of PTSD quite well for over a year, if I do say so myself. The dragon likes to be fed and I refuse to feed it. That isn't to say the dragon doesn't sneak up ever so quietly - coming out of that mind cave with a flaming rave. I'll give you an example. When my counselor started speaking of her own abuse as a way for me to relate to her, it threw me in my symptoms of PTSD; wanting to run away but having no idea where to run to, disorientation and feeling *not real*, migraines, nightmares, disjointed thoughts and speech. That was before I even realized I had PTSD. I'm a thinking person and highly interested in the intricacies of the mind. I studied my symptoms and researched different treatments. Basically, the person suffering from PTSD must be vigil in their own care. It's a full-on self treatment program that takes constant awareness of not only the external stimuli but the internal stimuli, as well. What does that mean? It means positive self-talk is one of the best ways to douse the flames of the dragon.
Notice how I said "self care." Medications could possibly help but I wanted to avoid that route. Ibuprofen makes me tired as a side effect. I tried over-the-counter allergy medications to alleviate hay fever (daytime formula) and it made me a proverbial medicine balloon head; mumbling and smiling and falling asleep suddenly so I stopped taking it and prefer the symptoms of my allergies over that feeling. Nyquil? Yes, I take that but it's a well planned out agenda no matter how bad or beastly my cold / flu-like symptoms may be (off work the next day, no pertinent errands, and everyone around me is warned. Pre-dosed swig right before bedtime and I sleep. Sleeping like a newborn infant all night - well into the next day). So self care was my only option.
Self Care I Use:
Napping. I have a 4yr old, remember. My son knows the importance of naptime. I make no excuses. There is no negotiating. When it's time for a nap, Mommy takes a nap. Most of the time, he will take a nap with me. I find it to be a lovely, subconscious way to bond. We both wake up feeling rested and refreshed. Highly important for both of us.
Meditation. Sitting quietly, anywhere from 5 minutes to 30. No white noise of the outside world. Close my eyes and just relax. Deep breathing and focusing on the inner light within me without thinking. Letting all of the worry slip away. There are many techniques one could use all spelled out in perfect detail per Google and YouTube.
Smiling: I had to practice this, at first. Once I knew the symptoms of PTSD and my personal triggers, I literally had to practice smiling when I absolutely did not feel like smiling. I could spend hours writing about the brain, itself. I'll save you from that (maybe. That's a future post at a later date). When we smile, the subconscious mind interprets only that smile / emotion. It forgets the bad mood / vibes, almost immediately. So I practice happy thoughts and *smile*.
Music and / or Dancing: There was a time I could only write in complete silence. I was constantly frustrated by external noise while writing. Now I write with my earbuds in. Music softly playing. The music literally helps me forget my PTSD symptoms if and when they arise.
Dancing. I have not met a person that is sad while dancing. There's that mind thing again. Just like smiling, if you're dancing you're telling your mind you are now ready to be happy and it complies.
Writing: I can only say "Thank God for my writing." Just like I'm doing now. Spelling it all out in grave detail - whether in an essay or in poetic form. Writing heals me. Whether it's poetry, essays, novels, or journaling - writing the pain is a wonderful way to extinguish any inner flame of emotion that threatens to burst out of control.
Last night was my first real and hard PTSD dragon bomb in over a year. Deep breathing helped. I am not taking anyone to church and I feel absolutely comfortable in saying I pray and I pray hard. It helps me.
There are after shocks of fighting and taming the dragon. Not everyone understands it. Here, in social media and this blog, the world knows that someone named Kendra has PTSD well under control but she has it, nonetheless. My family does not know (unless they are so inspired to read my blog). 3 of my friends know and only 2 truly understand it. Perhaps they understand because they suffer from similar symptoms. Or maybe they have it, too. Or maybe they are just that kind and gracious. Whatever it is, they know when and how to approach the encroach of my silence that could bury me emotionally. I think of the burden it is for them to listen to me sometimes talk about it; knowing I don't always talk about. They listen with such unselfish ears. I think of the worry I might cause by talking to them about it. They do it anyway. They understand my boundaries and sometimes barrel right through them without asking. They listen to me spill out epitaphs that would make a sailor blush. When my fire hose slips from my hand, they pick it up and douse the gaping mouth of the dragon threatening to do more than bite.
I've tamed the dragon of the symptoms of PTSD quite well for over a year, if I do say so myself. The dragon likes to be fed and I refuse to feed it. That isn't to say the dragon doesn't sneak up ever so quietly - coming out of that mind cave with a flaming rave. I'll give you an example. When my counselor started speaking of her own abuse as a way for me to relate to her, it threw me in my symptoms of PTSD; wanting to run away but having no idea where to run to, disorientation and feeling *not real*, migraines, nightmares, disjointed thoughts and speech. That was before I even realized I had PTSD. I'm a thinking person and highly interested in the intricacies of the mind. I studied my symptoms and researched different treatments. Basically, the person suffering from PTSD must be vigil in their own care. It's a full-on self treatment program that takes constant awareness of not only the external stimuli but the internal stimuli, as well. What does that mean? It means positive self-talk is one of the best ways to douse the flames of the dragon.
Notice how I said "self care." Medications could possibly help but I wanted to avoid that route. Ibuprofen makes me tired as a side effect. I tried over-the-counter allergy medications to alleviate hay fever (daytime formula) and it made me a proverbial medicine balloon head; mumbling and smiling and falling asleep suddenly so I stopped taking it and prefer the symptoms of my allergies over that feeling. Nyquil? Yes, I take that but it's a well planned out agenda no matter how bad or beastly my cold / flu-like symptoms may be (off work the next day, no pertinent errands, and everyone around me is warned. Pre-dosed swig right before bedtime and I sleep. Sleeping like a newborn infant all night - well into the next day). So self care was my only option.
Self Care I Use:
Napping. I have a 4yr old, remember. My son knows the importance of naptime. I make no excuses. There is no negotiating. When it's time for a nap, Mommy takes a nap. Most of the time, he will take a nap with me. I find it to be a lovely, subconscious way to bond. We both wake up feeling rested and refreshed. Highly important for both of us.
Meditation. Sitting quietly, anywhere from 5 minutes to 30. No white noise of the outside world. Close my eyes and just relax. Deep breathing and focusing on the inner light within me without thinking. Letting all of the worry slip away. There are many techniques one could use all spelled out in perfect detail per Google and YouTube.
Smiling: I had to practice this, at first. Once I knew the symptoms of PTSD and my personal triggers, I literally had to practice smiling when I absolutely did not feel like smiling. I could spend hours writing about the brain, itself. I'll save you from that (maybe. That's a future post at a later date). When we smile, the subconscious mind interprets only that smile / emotion. It forgets the bad mood / vibes, almost immediately. So I practice happy thoughts and *smile*.
Music and / or Dancing: There was a time I could only write in complete silence. I was constantly frustrated by external noise while writing. Now I write with my earbuds in. Music softly playing. The music literally helps me forget my PTSD symptoms if and when they arise.
Dancing. I have not met a person that is sad while dancing. There's that mind thing again. Just like smiling, if you're dancing you're telling your mind you are now ready to be happy and it complies.
Writing: I can only say "Thank God for my writing." Just like I'm doing now. Spelling it all out in grave detail - whether in an essay or in poetic form. Writing heals me. Whether it's poetry, essays, novels, or journaling - writing the pain is a wonderful way to extinguish any inner flame of emotion that threatens to burst out of control.
Last night was my first real and hard PTSD dragon bomb in over a year. Deep breathing helped. I am not taking anyone to church and I feel absolutely comfortable in saying I pray and I pray hard. It helps me.
There are after shocks of fighting and taming the dragon. Not everyone understands it. Here, in social media and this blog, the world knows that someone named Kendra has PTSD well under control but she has it, nonetheless. My family does not know (unless they are so inspired to read my blog). 3 of my friends know and only 2 truly understand it. Perhaps they understand because they suffer from similar symptoms. Or maybe they have it, too. Or maybe they are just that kind and gracious. Whatever it is, they know when and how to approach the encroach of my silence that could bury me emotionally. I think of the burden it is for them to listen to me sometimes talk about it; knowing I don't always talk about. They listen with such unselfish ears. I think of the worry I might cause by talking to them about it. They do it anyway. They understand my boundaries and sometimes barrel right through them without asking. They listen to me spill out epitaphs that would make a sailor blush. When my fire hose slips from my hand, they pick it up and douse the gaping mouth of the dragon threatening to do more than bite.
Tuesday, January 27, 2015
Hell
I finally got my 4yr old Tot settled down after his breakdown and he was chatting away. I think of what I'm dealing with and I know it's doubled in Tot. I had to pull him out of daycare - a place he adored going to with all of his friends. He was, and probably still is, mad at me. I explained he would get the chance to see his friends, just not as often. Being a contract physical therapist assistant means I do get a higher pay rate, but that also means I have to pay out-of-pocket for health insurance for the both of us. I won't get into the logistics of my career, because that is not what this blog post is about. It simply means I have to choose my battles wisely and make smarter financial choices.
Back to the point. Tot turned to me suddenly and asked me about "bad guys." I answered some of his questions but tried to turn the conversation around; distract him to a new line of thinking. He was having none of it.
"The bad guys are coming, Mommy."
"Bubby. No they're not. You're safe here. This is the place where bad guys disappear."
"No. They are coming and I'm going to protect you when they do. I'll fight them, Mommy."
I was silent for a bit. Then I tried to discern where this was all coming from. A movie? Some cartoon like Power Rangers?
"Daddy said..."
I stopped listening for a half second. My instincts roiling; wanting to scoop Tot up and run. I don't know where. Just somewhere far from here and a sociopathic narcissistic abusive ex husband.
"Daddy said bad guys can get better."
That's how our conversation ended. I now sit here wondering if this was something Tot saw on TV; am I blowing this out of proportion in my own mind? Am I in danger? Regardless, I am now in full-blown survival mode but wanting very hard to rationalize what Tot was saying to me tonight.
The last thing my ex told me as I packed the car and drove away for good almost 5yrs ago, "I know a lot of people. It doesn't even have to be me. I can call a friend and you'll be sorry for everything. You don't even know the meaning of sorry."
It's a quarter after midnight and I should be in bed. Migraine raging. Knowing damn well there's not one thing anyone can do. Not one. Call the police? Tot was relaying a series of conversations he has been holding in for some time. That's my gut instinct.
PTSD symptoms whisper, "This is all a bad dream. Tot heard it wrong. It was from a show he saw. Surely...."
Back to the point. Tot turned to me suddenly and asked me about "bad guys." I answered some of his questions but tried to turn the conversation around; distract him to a new line of thinking. He was having none of it.
"The bad guys are coming, Mommy."
"Bubby. No they're not. You're safe here. This is the place where bad guys disappear."
"No. They are coming and I'm going to protect you when they do. I'll fight them, Mommy."
I was silent for a bit. Then I tried to discern where this was all coming from. A movie? Some cartoon like Power Rangers?
"Daddy said..."
I stopped listening for a half second. My instincts roiling; wanting to scoop Tot up and run. I don't know where. Just somewhere far from here and a sociopathic narcissistic abusive ex husband.
"Daddy said bad guys can get better."
That's how our conversation ended. I now sit here wondering if this was something Tot saw on TV; am I blowing this out of proportion in my own mind? Am I in danger? Regardless, I am now in full-blown survival mode but wanting very hard to rationalize what Tot was saying to me tonight.
The last thing my ex told me as I packed the car and drove away for good almost 5yrs ago, "I know a lot of people. It doesn't even have to be me. I can call a friend and you'll be sorry for everything. You don't even know the meaning of sorry."
It's a quarter after midnight and I should be in bed. Migraine raging. Knowing damn well there's not one thing anyone can do. Not one. Call the police? Tot was relaying a series of conversations he has been holding in for some time. That's my gut instinct.
PTSD symptoms whisper, "This is all a bad dream. Tot heard it wrong. It was from a show he saw. Surely...."
Monday, January 19, 2015
Her Hanging Tree
In she walks
With the gallow talks
Heavy
Slow
Swinging
Machete
To all the unpretty
Waiting for the crawl
Hearing the banshee call
Swiping easier
Girly, girl feeling prettier
Cutting through the muck
Asking all those who will listen
Follow me?
To my hanging tree
Through midnight shadows
Blood dripping
Screech owls silent
In the deafening echoes
Watch with me
As the girl hangs from the noose
The woman let loose
Slipping through the rope
Into the world
Standing tall
Not bending and begging
To grope
With the gallow talks
Heavy
Slow
Swinging
Machete
To all the unpretty
Waiting for the crawl
Hearing the banshee call
Swiping easier
Girly, girl feeling prettier
Cutting through the muck
Asking all those who will listen
Follow me?
To my hanging tree
Through midnight shadows
Blood dripping
Screech owls silent
In the deafening echoes
Watch with me
As the girl hangs from the noose
The woman let loose
Slipping through the rope
Into the world
Standing tall
Not bending and begging
To grope
New Voice
I heard her talking
As one person asked
The almighty question
"Are you married?"
No sarcastic backbeat
No angry glare
Just this voice
Calmly explaining
Making no apology
As more gathered around
No hiding for some
Lower ground
I owned her
The voice
My voice
The voice of a survivor
Calmly
Coolly
Collectively
Without worry of acceptance
Without worry of disdain
I lighted on my past pain
Feeling it slip away
In that very moment
I was abused
I am not an abused soul
I am still whole
As one person asked
The almighty question
"Are you married?"
No sarcastic backbeat
No angry glare
Just this voice
Calmly explaining
Making no apology
As more gathered around
No hiding for some
Lower ground
I owned her
The voice
My voice
The voice of a survivor
Calmly
Coolly
Collectively
Without worry of acceptance
Without worry of disdain
I lighted on my past pain
Feeling it slip away
In that very moment
I was abused
I am not an abused soul
I am still whole
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